


Never Never

by crazycatlady713



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Character Study, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Peter Pan References, Young Turtles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 12:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3291182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazycatlady713/pseuds/crazycatlady713
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonardo ruminates upon the true source of his strength.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Never

_Peter Pan_ is all about dead children.

None of us realized it all those years ago when Sensei read it aloud to us, a chapter or two a night over the course of several weeks. Not because he omitted the less savory parts, mind you. We were still just children then and our brains, semi-formed and gelatinous, simply didn't pick up on the harsh undertones hidden just beneath the novel's supposedly kid-friendly surface. It wasn't until I reread it as an adult did I realize the whimsical tale of the pixie-befriending, pirate-battling little boy who refused to grow up has more death and decay than a Cronenberg film. So much so that not even the fragrance from the island's rainbow-hued flora could conceal the stench of rotting flesh, nor could the sand hide from view the innumerable bones littering its shores, picked cleaned by gulls and bleached stark white by the sun...

Take poor Wendy for example. She survived so many deadly encounters that, were she real, I would happily offer her a spot on our team. An attempted drowning by the mermaids, forced to walk the plank by the pirates, and almost shot down at the behest of an intensely jealous Tinkerbell; It's a miracle she came out of the ordeal with her sanity, let alone her life, intact. Unlike her attempted murderer, who succumbed to the relatively short pixie lifespan of only a few years before the novel's end.

Then there are the Lost Boys, Peter Pan's perennial men-at-arms. There is only one rule in Neverland, and it is one all in his little army must abide. Though they all swear fealty to it upon arriving, some can't help but break it. And if any of them are found guilty of the cardinal sin of growing up, they meet a swift end at the hands of Peter himself and summarily replaced. That's if he didn't already kill them in the heat of battle, as he had a tendency to occasionally "switch sides" and turn on his own men.

And then there's Peter. Oh, Peter...

I read an article about J.M. Barrie once, and how the beloved protagonist came to be was recounted. The author's older brother passed away at a young age in an accident, and their mother, to whom the boy shared a very close bond, plunged into a deep depression. During this difficult time, Mother Barrie reportedly said of her dead child that he "will be young forever now." That quote planted a seed in young James' head, who at this point took to wearing his dead brother's clothes and mimicking his voice in a misguided attempt to bring his mother some solace. That seed eventually began to germinate and blossom into the time-honored tale we all know and love.

Peter Pan and Tinkerbell, a cherub-faced Bonnie and Clyde. He, who famously opined, "To die would be an awfully big adventure" and callously murdered his own henchmen now serves as the face of a well-known children's hospital. And his ever-loyal accomplice, a tiny, winged Squeaky Fromme who would happily kill for her man now graces many a backpack and velcroed sneaker in middle schools across America. Isn't it strange how the meaning of something can change so drastically over time?

I can still remember how we'd all assemble at Sensei's feet every night for story time, eagerly anticipating the next installment of whatever saga we were currently embroiled in. We were extraordinarily well-read for children, Splinter having fed us a steady diet of all the classics during our youth. _Peter Pan_ , however, was our favorite. A story about a bunch of sword-wielding feral children clad in animal pelts...honestly, could you think of a better book to read to a bunch of anthropomorphic turtle children training to be ninjas?

I remember how Mikey would sit there, his beloved plush kitty clasped in both hands as he listened, wide-eyed and entranced. How he would gasp or applaud in accordance with the characters' setbacks and triumphs.

How Donnie, a chronic over-thinker even then, would ask question after question despite our protestations to just be quiet and listen.

"But how can they fly without wings?" he often complained.

"Magic!" came the aggravated, unified response, before we'd adjure him to be quiet for the hundredth time that night.

And Raph, sitting apart from the rest of us with a protruding lower lip and arms crossed resolutely across his plastron in protest.

"That's a _baby_ book," he groused, instantly turned off by the sight of the golden-haired, sun-kissed youth surrounded by pixies on the book's cover.

He eventually came around however, as we knew he would. He sidled closer and closer to the rest of the group each night, till we were all clustered hungrily around Splinter like a nest of baby birds anticipating our next meal.

As for me...I was instantly ensorceled by the tale and desperately wished we could all be whisked away to Neverland. Were we there, I fervently believed, we would definitely have shown that mean old Captain Hook a thing or two!

One night during this period stands out in particular. I think if we all go back far enough, we can all recall that one singular, terrifying moment in which the veil that separates the world of childhood whimsy from the dark, oppressive world of grown ups is ripped free and we take a glimpse, unbidden, into a realm we originally thought was miles and miles away. I can remember mine with perfect clarity.

Mikey wept piteously at my side, clinging desperately to his ever-present plush tabby as though it were a life preserver. Too terrified to go back to sleep lest the crocodile, the continuous _tick-tock_ from its gut heralding its arrival, try to devour him whole like it did Hook's hand. As ignorant as we may have been to the story's dark connotations our subconscious minds were not so easily fooled, and watching the tears streaming from his big, blue eyes broke my heart.

"What if I stay awake and protect you?" I suggested, gently stroking his head.

"O-okay," he responded, nodding sadly.

I tucked him in and rubbed his carapace as I spoke soothingly to him, in imitation of the routine I so often watched our Master perform whenever he comforted our nightmare-prone sibling. It worked and he was fast asleep before too long, with me not far behind. I began to nod off then, lulled by his soft snoring. I was awoken as suddenly as I fell asleep however, a litany of soft sobs robbing me of my well-earned sleep. I looked down at Mikey, who was sleeping peacefully beside me. I turned to my right; Raph and Donnie were still knocked out, drooling into our shared blanket perfectly unperturbed.

The crying was coming from outside our room.

Pulling myself free, I tiptoed out into the corridor to investigate. I traced the source to Splinter's room, where the soft light of a single, flickering candle flame barely illuminated his sleeping form. I watched, stricken, as he continued to sob quietly into his pillow, his body convulsing with overwhelming emotion even in sleep. As I continued to watch, I could hear some words interspersed throughout...No, not words, I soon realized. Names. He was repeating the same two names over and over again and I strained to make them out. They were names I recognized but just barely, as he very seldom spoke to us of his past and only in very vague terms when he did. It would be years still before I learned the full story behind those names, but even then I understood the sentiment in my own childlike way. He missed his family. The dead wife. the lost child...

 _Splinter doesn't cry_ , I thought to myself in disbelief. _He's stronger than anyone and_ nothing _rattles him!_ And yet here he was, whimpering as pathetically as any one of us. I was alternately horrified by what I was seeing and desperate to comfort him, vying within myself as to whether I should run back to my room and to the warmth and safety of my brothers, or if I should venture closer to him, and try to console him like I did Mikey. I never could stand to see anyone suffer however, not now and not then, and I approached as quietly as I possibly could.

He looked so like Mikey whenever he was in the midst of a bad dream; curled in upon himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. The pillow was positively drenched with tears. I gently pulled the cover away and crawled in beside him, pulling it up over us. His eyes snapped open as soon as he felt my presence and the crying ceased immediately. Wordlessly, he pulled me in closer and held me to him. I nestled against his chest and stroked his fur, trying as best I could to convey to him that he was not alone, and there was nothing to be afraid of. It worked, I think. We fell asleep soon after, safe in eachother's arms.

He awoke early in the morning, long before the rest of us, as was his custom. I rose with him and helped him fix breakfast. It was business as usual that day and though we didn't speak about what happened the night before, he did turn to me on occasion and smiled in my direction, a gesture equal parts gratitude, love and sadness. That night, we finished up the chapter in which Tinkerbell attempts a heroic sacrifice by drinking poison meant for Peter.

I never told my brothers. I couldn't quite articulate then why I felt it so necessary to keep this from them, but I knew it had to stay a secret. But I know now. I wanted to forestall their harsh entry into the world of grown ups as long as possible, a world marked by sadness and loss, a world where adults aren't nearly as unflappable as they seem and are just as lost as us. It's a world where one's beloved childhood heroes are really sociopathic ghosts. I wanted to stave off, as long as I could, the bite of Pan's cold steel across their throats.

I no longer look back upon this event with tears in my eyes, but rather with much love and admiration. How hard it must have been for him to endure so much and yet, he still managed to find it within himself to care for us, teach us and love us. All those times he smiled in our presence when really he wanted to cry, and how he hid those tears from us, sobbing all alone in his room while we slept peacefully in ours. All those times he watched as we left for a mission, knowing we may never return. He lost so much but continued to give of himself, never letting it break him, always pulling himself up where a lesser man would have fallen to pieces.

He was the strongest man I have ever known. It's his strength I bring with me into battle, it's what compels me to keep fighting even when I want nothing more than to give up. I can feel him here with me now, roaring within me to proceed, commanding me to get up and fight. I know no matter where I am, and no matter where he is, his endless source of strength will be there for me, to tap into whenever I need it.

With him by my side, I will never fall.

And I will never give up.

**Author's Note:**

> “Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.” ~ J.M. Barrie, _Peter Pan_


End file.
